


Gift

by Rrrowr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Public Sex, Scent Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 10:04:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Deucalion woos Stiles in a manner fit for a werewolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gift

Looking back on it now, it had to have begun with Mr Harris, who had been particularly touchy today and hadn’t been all that fond of Scott’s new found enthusiasm for education. Stiles had stood up for him in the sly way that he was known for, by setting a small fire at his lab table and causing general chaos until Mr Harris was yelling at him instead. He’d been aware at the time of the twins, Ethan and Aiden, paying particular attention to this, but hadn’t thought much about it until just now.

Stiles opened his front door. Someone had knocked and then vanished, leaving behind a wooden box. He approached it cautiously. There was no one in the streets that he could pinpoint as a possible culprit, but considering the angled triskelion branded into the cover, signs pointed toward the alpha pack as the source. When he opened the box, he half expected something grotesque — maybe Mr. Harris’ still beating heart or his head or something, you know… weird. Instead, he got a stack of new plaid shirts with a note on top that read: _A gift and thanks for protecting what matters most to me. To replace the one you lost when we last met._

The note was far more suggestive than what had actually happened — which was that Stiles had been running for his life and Deucalion had nearly caught him. As in, Deucalion had his claws in the back of his shirt and Stiles had sooner let it be torn to shreds while he fought free of the sleeves than get himself captured by alphas. 

As for the _what matters most to me_ , that was no guessing matter either. Now that Isaac’s mysterious Girl had turned back up, everyone knew that Scott was the threat Deucalion was focused on. It was weird to have Deucalion’s attention shifted toward him at all, but the shirts were nice. A different color than the one that had been torn off of him, but soft to the touch and not even in that worn down way. Maybe it was a little creepy to be getting a gift from the alpha pack, but — Stiles looked around shiftily, wondering if anyone from Derek’s pack was keeping an eye on him.

What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

*

Stiles happened to be wearing one of the shirts when he grabbed by one of the alpha twins. He had a hard time telling them apart, still, but whichever one it was — Ethan or Aiden — he grinned sharply before tossing him to Deucalion. Running meant that Stiles was still trying to catch his breath when Deucalion’s hand came around his throat from behind. Fear made him go still. He was intimately aware of the claws against his neck. Stiles strained to get away from them, but just ended up firmly against Deucalion’s chest, with his warm breath against his ear. Deucalion rumbled against his back, fingers skating up under Stiles’ jaw and tilting his head to the side. Stiles felt Deucalion’s face press near his shoulder and shivered, wondering what was going to be done to him.

"You’re wearing my gift," Deucalion said. “I was wondering if you might."

Swallowing thickly, Stiles tried to deny it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Deucalion palmed his hip and then covered Stiles’ belly with his hand, hugging him close. “Your clothes have my scent." His nose touched Stiles’ neck and breathed. “Do you like it?"

"I—" Stiles shuddered, grabbing Deucalion’s arm when his hand seemed to prepared to slide from his belly to someplace lower. “Wait—"

Deucalion didn’t wait. He didn’t seem to notice that Stiles was trying to hold him back at all. His hand palmed warmly over Stiles’ dick, not really trying to arouse him — though Stiles really couldn’t help responding anyway. Deucalion’s hand felt good, and the claws at his neck felt good too, pressing just so at his pulse, even if the touch was making Stiles color with shame.

Stiles was pretty sure that if he saw Deucalion’s fangs, even if he only caught sight of them out of the corner of his eye, that might be the end of things. He’d come embarrassingly soon right here and now. He was grateful, then, when there was a shout and bang off to the side — a bitten off whine and then growling snarls that sounded like the rest of the pack had found the alpha twin from earlier.

In the short span of time it took Deucalion to turn toward the sound, Stiles lurched out of his grasp, stumbling away. He brought a hand up to his own neck as he looked back. It felt as if Deucalion’s hand was still there, holding him, and his dick was still hard as a rock. The look was a quick one — just enough to see Deucalion bring his fingers to his mouth, the broad pink of his tongue as he licked his thumb.

*

That night, Stiles got in his jeep and drove. Derek would normally be doing rounds. This close after an encounter with the alphas left Derek antsy and restless. Sometimes, that would mean he would do his paces around Beacon Hills, dropping in at the houses of people he worried about. But today had left Isaac looking worse for wear, so maybe Derek was back at his loft, keeping an eye on his beta while he healed. Either way, Stiles didn’t want to risk Derek being near his house while he did this.

This… It was a stupid idea, thinking about Deucalion and what it seemed like Deucalion wanted to do to him. There were so many ways in which this could go wrong or ways in which it could not go at all, and as Stiles drove, his nerves kept him from stopping at any particular place.

But when he saw it — the small building that had housed the bank vault, the first place he’d seen Deucalion, the place where Deucalion had almost caught him — he had to stop. The street was quiet, dark, but as Stiles stared at the building, his heart started to pound out a heavy rhythm. He imagined Deucalion coming out onto the street, stepping into the spill of light from the street lamp. The thought of it pulled a visceral reaction out of Stiles. It made his breath catch and his dick hard. Pushing his seat back and unlatching his seat belt, Stiles gave himself the maximum amount of room that still allowed him to keep the building’s doors in sight.

Finding the right way to touch himself was easy. It’s how he thought Deucalion might, if the way he’d done it earlier was any indication. He’d be exploratory, Stiles thought. He’d touch Stiles like he was trying to learn the shape of his cock, find every line, every vein, every place on Stiles’ cock that would make him cry out. Stiles thought about getting caught — Deucalion knowing that he was out here or worse, if Scott or Derek (or anyone from the pack really) found out. Shame made his body flush. His cheeks went hot with blood, and he gasped, looking down to see his fist around his own cock. His skin was smooth and soft. Deucalion’s hand would probably be rougher, and maybe there would be the threat of claws, too.

While Stiles was stretching out his legs, feet pressing against the far wall of the floor well, a car whizzed by, and he shrunk down on instinct, hoping the driver had been too busy to notice him. He turned to follow the car’s path with his eyes, biting his lip when the flash of red tail lights made him think of Deucalion again. When he turned back around, Stiles had to stop, midjerk, to make sure that he wasn’t hallucinating. Across the street, there was a figure leaning in the doorway of the bank. At first, it was just a shadow — a slender bit of shaped darkness — but then it stepped into the light, off the curb toward Stiles. Deucalion’s features were lit as soon as he hit the street, his hair like a dirty halo around his head.

"Shit," Stiles cursed, glancing down to where his keys jangled in the ignition. His hand, though — it tightened around his dick when he looked up to see Deucalion heading straight for him. He should turn the jeep on. He should drive away as quickly as possible, but by the time he could gather the control to do that, Deucalion had already pulled open the driver side door and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. Stiles flailed and scrambled to find his footing as he was pulled from the seat and pushed up against the jeep. "Don’t—"

Stiles words were cut off by the feeling of a hand on his bare dick, a hand as rough as the one he’d imagined. His own hands went from their position of surrender to Deucalion’s shoulders, grabbing and holding on as his legs started to shake.

"Shit, are you fucking serious?" he gasped, moving his hands to grip the back of Deucalion’s neck.

Deucalion’s fist was moving hard and fast over his dick, almost cruelly so for how quickly it was dragging him to the edge. His other hand was at Stiles’ hip, holding him to the side of the jeep, but as Stiles continued to clutch at him, Deucalion stepped closer, tucking his face into the line of his throat.

He hummed, breathing up behind Stiles’ ear. “Still carrying my scent."

Stiles twisted toward him. He didn’t want to hear any more about how he was going around smelling like Deucalion. It was a werewolf thing that he only half understood, but he knew it was why both Cora and Boyd had been keen on avoiding him while he was wearing the shirts he’d been given. He kind of liked the sound of it, though. It made it seem as if Deucalion wanted to be with him, no matter where he was. Deucalion’s mouth was there to meet his, and Stiles tried to make it as rough and hard as the hand that was moving over his cock. But Deucalion enjoyed the tease, apparently. 

"No," he said, kissing Stiles softly. “You’ll take it like this."

The dissonance left Stiles’ reeling — the pace of Deucalion’s hand was completely at odds with the barely their touch of his lips. Stiles felt like he was just breathing in Deucalion’s space. Their mouths skated near each other, sometimes pressing, sometimes giving the hint of teeth. Stiles couldn’t stop shaking — couldn’t keep his fingers from digging into Deucalion’s shoulders — and then Deucalion nuzzled against his neck again, breathing audibly at the bolt of his jaw. There was no reason why that should be the thing that did it, but Stiles cursed, feeling Deucalion’s fingers squeeze around his length, and spilled out over his hand. Stiles thought he might fall, but Deucalion pushed him firmly against the jeep, holding him there long enough that his legs felt less shaky. 

The hand that Deucalion then held up between them was covered in spunk, thick threads of it beading in the spaces of his fingers. Stiles had to watch in fascination as Deucalion licked some of it clear from the back of his hand, and then had to hold his breath as sticky fingers slipped under his jaw and spread out over his throat.

"So," Stiles whispered uncertainly. “This a werewolf thing?"

Deucalion’s mouth quirked at the corner and his eyes seemed to bleed out red from under the fan of his lashes. “Do you have many werewolves doing this to you?"

"No," Stiles breathed. “Not especially. Why? Jealous?"

Deucalion’s smile broadened. “Immensely."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://rrrowr.tumblr.com/post/53571973851) on tumblr.


End file.
